~* Bad decisions make great stories *~
A Harry Styles dark romance that explores the intricacies of mental health, morality and sexual attraction. Enter a world of sin, opulence and crime.
*****
It started and ended with the wind.
She was a hurrican...
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I wake up feeling unusually warm courtesy of the large, slumbering man still tightly wrapped around me. It's a simultaneously surreal and comforting position to be in. I lie completely still to avoid waking him so I can bask in the foreign sensation for a while before he wakes and shatters the illusion.
It's a struggle to remain calm and keep my breathing under control. Especially once I open my eyes and discover that sleeping Harry is quite possibly my new favourite thing. His relaxed face, so close to my own, is so unexpectedly peaceful and hypnotically mesmerising that I'm too slow to react when his eyes flutter open and he catches me staring.
I feel my cheeks instantly flood with heat as a lazy smile pulls at the corners of his lips. "Morning." His voice is a deep, sleepy rasp that sends a shiver down my spine. I drop my eyes and mumble an incoherant reponse while anxiously awaiting the change I just know is coming.
But it never does.
Instead, Harry pulls away from me and stretches his muscular arms above his head - drawing attention to the fact he is naked from the waist up. A detail I apparently missed in the choas of my emotions last night. My heartbeat is so erratic I'm worried he'll be able to hear it.
I'm never going to stop blushing around this man.
Thankfully he leaves the bed; only to present me with a new obstacle. I try my best to look anywhere else but my eyes keep getting drawn back to him as he moves around the room - unhurried and relaxed, as if he is enjoying my obvious awkward discomfort. I can't help but note that he looks better rested than I've seen him in a while. Guilt swirls in my gut for forcing him out of his own bed for so long.
Once he's gone to the bathroom and covered himself with a long-sleeved shirt that fits him so well that it becomes a distraction in itself, he returns to the bed and drops into an easy squat by my side. My breathing increases to match my stuttering heartbeat and I avoid meeting his gaze.
Harry is having none of it.
His large hand - hello veins - grips my chin in a firm, but gentle hold and before I know it I'm trapped in the depths of his emerald green eyes again. "Come on, I'll help you up." Everything about his demeanour makes me feel safe and comforted and so I follow his familiar lead without question while I try to wrap my head around his behaviour.
